Joker's Wild
by Faia Saiyajin
Summary: Updated! A plot-pun on one of my favorite (and not just because of Mel Gibson) westerns, 'Maverick'. The Bebop crew signs up for a Poker Championship on a Casino Ship, all for the sake of getting some fast cash and two bounties.
1. Default Chapter

Title: Joker's Wild  
Author: Faia Saiyajin  
Series: Cowboy Bebop  
Rating: PG-13  
---  
  
The Queen of Hearts drifted lazily to the floor, missing the overturned hat by only a few millimeters, grazing off the brim.  
  
"Ahh damn. A little too much English on that one."  
  
"You gotta let it flow…"  
  
"You start up with that 'nice an' easy' hooey again and I hit you."  
  
The younger man said nothing, just grinned slowly. Flicking his wrist in a smooth, fluid motion, his long fingers released the 2 of Spades. It spun end over end, and landed in the hat without any trouble, atop the other cards with black suits. One or two of Jet's red cards were in there as well, but it seemed that most of his share of the cards were scattered around it. Spike smirked self-righteously, and lit a cigarette, removing the look before it earned him a whack on the head. Or gave the other man the urge to send his next card between his eyes instead of the hat.   
  
The pair had been like that for hours now, sitting on the lumpy, faded yellow sofa, tossing playing cards into Jet's white fedora, as it sat on the opposite chair. Throwing an arm over the back of the couch, Jet angled his head over his shoulder, to look at the clock displayed on the computer screen. "Jesus. How long have we been at this?"  
  
"Three hours and 12 minutes." Spike said lazily, tossing another card into the hat. "She's taking her damn sweet time."  
  
His partner grumbled, and rubbed his balding skull. "It certainly was nice of her to leave the money and food this time around."  
  
Faye had left four hours ago, on another one of her urges to gamble turned desperate searches. She'd shut off her communication unit, effectively blocking any sort of questions or complaints from her roomies. So far Jet had left a half a dozen messages, none of which were returned. Having bullied Jet into taking the Bebop to Earth, Faye'd up and left the instant he'd set the ship into orbit.  
  
"You think she'll come back this time?"  
  
"She always does. Eventually, that is." Spike shrugged. "Just like an alley cat." The ash on his cigarette had grown dangerously long, threatening to fall into his lap. Checking both sides of his body, the floor, and the table, Spiegel raised a brow. "You see where the ashtray went?" At that moment, the ash dropped from his cigarette, landing on the yellow fabric of the sofa's arm. Before Jet could notice, he hastily brushed it clean, leaving behind a small grey smear, that he covered with an inconspicuous placement of his hand.  
  
Black didn't move from his slumped posture, one foot on the table, his arms sprawled out on the back of the couch. It took him a second to realize that he'd mimicked the pose he'd seen Spike in one too many times, and straightened, leaning forward on his knees. "Hell if I know. Ed probably has it."  
  
Spike blinked at the remark. "Huh?" For a moment, he got a mental image of Ed in one of the hallways, smoking idly as she plodded along, her arms swaying to and fro with her spindle-legged walk. His nose crinkled in distaste at the idea.  
  
"I saw her collecting odds and ends from around the ship. Milk cartons, beer tabs, and my good pair of scissors. She might be building something. Or she's turning into a strange sort of pack-rat."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Jet glanced over at Spike, amusement flashing over his face. "What do you wanna bet she's building some sort of Frankenstein monster?"  
  
"I wouldn't put it past you." He snickered, and flicked off an ash into his palm. "She's weird." The sound of a phone ringing cut off his next statement. "And there's our alley cat now."  
  
Jet rolled his eyes, standing. He was getting tired of all the feline references. Spike was a stubborn tomcat, according to Faye. Faye was a troublemaking alley cat to Spike. What did that make him? He was afraid to ask, frankly.   
  
Ein lifted his head, ears perked up, as Jet lifted the com unit from the table the dog was under. Sneezing, he laid his muzzle down on his paws, staring at Jet's boots. His ears flicked as the man spoke. He sounded irritated, but there was a trace of relief underneath it. Ein knew this guy like the back of his hand …er… paw. Tough as old boot leather on the outside, but beneath it, he was a concerned motherly type. He remembered times when it would seem like Jet would hold his breath, waiting for the check-in call from Spike, when a dangerous bounty was involved.  
  
What would have been a thorough browbeating on Jet's part was replaced by a curious 'oh?' followed by an amused chuckle. Ein lifted his head again, and whined in question.  
  
Faye exhaled a cloud of smoke, a trace of annoyance in her actions. "I said that I've heard some interesting information from the locals. Two fat bounty heads, all in one location. Total sum is 100 thousand Woolongs."  
  
"What else?" Jet said dryly. She'd entered into her sweet-talk routine. She had something else in mind. Either that or she'd gotten smoke in her eyes. She'd been blinking an unnatural amount the minute he'd answered.  
  
She coughed, regaining her composure. "It's at a Poker Championship held this Friday night. Winner takes all, including a 2 million purse."  
  
"I knew there had to be an angle." He replied flatly.  
  
Spike chuckled from across the room. "You must be chomping at the bit over this one." His current position allowed him to escape the murderous look she cast into the screen. He dumped the cigarette into an empty beer can, listening to it fizzle out, looking purely innocent.  
  
"Who are our lucky contestants?" Jet skipped over the argument in-progress, and went right to the business end of it.   
  
"Some chuckleheads by the name of Deuce and Ace. Last names unknown. The charges are money laundering, theft, casino-rigging."  
  
"Looks like we're sticking with the playing card theme with this one." Jet smirked. It had been days since a bounty had come in, and the crew was strapped for cash. "Okay, Faye. Count us in."  
  
But Faye's less-than-jubilant reaction caught his attention immediately. She was looking off to the side, once again hiding something. "There's… one… small hitch." She smiled uneasily. "There's a 25,000 Woolong entry fee. Per person."  
  
Both of their jaws dropped simultaneously.  
  
"You've got to be kidding me."  
  
"I wish I was, Jet. It's a high-class event. They're trying to weed out riffraff." Her expression went from dismay to a petulant, puppy-dog-eyed plea. "I'm sure we can arrange something. …Please?"  
  
"Did… she just say 'please'?" Spike stood, looking at the tiny box Jet held, stunned.  
  
Jet shook his head slowly. "She did." He sighed raggedly, tugging at his beard. "I don't know whether it's because I'm so damned generous, or the fact that I don't want to hear any of your lip… but… okay. Fine. We'll get in somehow."  
  
Spike palmed his forehead as Faye beamed. "ThankyouThankyouThankyou!!"  
  
Putting down the com, he waited for the silence in the room to stop.  
  
"It's WEDNESDAY, Jet. We have less than TWO days to come up with 75,000 Woolongs." He eyed his partner's back.  
  
"If you're not up for it, fine. Fifty thou will be easier to come by."   
  
He snorted. "You kidding me? I wouldn't miss this for all the tea in China. …But I'm presuming that you've got some sort of idea as to how we pull this off."  
  
"As a matter of fact, I do."  
  
"And what would that be?"  
  
Jet turned, a strange, mischievous grin on his face. "We haul ass." 


	2. 2

"I really don't think this is going to work, Jet." Spike grimaced. He leaned forward on the Swordfish's controls, tapping his fingers against the dash. "This is a wild stunt, considering it's coming out of you and meant for me to pull off."  
  
Jet merely chuckled. Waiting beside him, in the red-velour roped line, was Ms. Valentine, looking as glamorous as ever. Clinging to her like a second skin, the shimmering silver dress, with its slit up to her hip, and plunging neckline, attracted the eyes of all the men in line. Her white stiletto sandals added a good 5 inches to her height, the slit of the dress hanging in just the right way to show off more than just her nice calves. Looking elitist in the only way Faye could, she was poised, playing her part of a spoiled playgirl very well. One red-nailed hand rested against the curve of her hip, holding the white clutch bag firmly, the other twisted the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck. Her lips hadn't left the tight rosebud pout, and she stood unusually close to Jet.   
  
He had forgone the classy white suit he reserved for dressing up occasions. Despite his strange clothes, Jet looked as if he had been born in them. They screamed 'Pimp-in-training'. They weren't exactly the typical boisterous getup of outrageous colors and diamond-studded jewelry that came to mind with the word pimp. It came close, though. Black trousers, in a more modern, loose cut, slouched over white wingtips. His white shirt, with a narrow collar, was baggy, the cuffs insisting that they wanted to reach his knuckles, instead of staying put at his wrists. The top three buttons were undone, and he wore no tie, to show the gold costume cross on a thick gold chain. Over that he wore a long coat of decent-looking imitation leather, the collar a fuzzy leopard print. On his head was a black fedora, the band matching the leopard-print collar on the coat. He stood half-slouched, his cybernetic hand in his pocket, the other hand twisting a heavy signet ring of costume jewelry around his forefinger. An arrogant smirk was comfortably resting on his lips, and he kept glancing at Faye, looking possessive and amused, over the dark sunglasses that rested low on his nose. All in all, Jet pulled off the look very well. To everyone in the crowded rope line, he was a high roller out to play with his favorite young toy.  
  
Slick Mr. Black lifted the hat off his head to smooth the hair at the back of his head. "Can it." He nearly growled into the mic concealed behind the cuff of his right wrist. Spike had complained the same way, before they'd left the Bebop for the hip nightclub on Mars.  
"You could at least let me do it. You look funny."  
  
Jet was standing in the center of the room, Faye tugging at his clothes, making sure they fit properly. She shot him a look over Jet's shoulder, as she arranged the collar of the jacket. "I told you. They didn't have anything in your size. Besides, Jet looks like a pimp. You look more like a punk. No one would believe it if you two switched."  
  
Both men were scarlet, either from embarrassment or anger. "You know…" He raised a finger, and getting ready to shake it angrily at Faye, when Jet cut in. They'd used the last of their stash to purchase the new duds they would wear. This had to go off without a hitch, or, to coin the phrase; they'd be up shit's crick.  
  
"She's right. If we're going to get this guy," He set the hat on his head, practicing his look, with a grin. "We gotta play it cool, baby."   
  
Grumbling curses around the cigarette in his mouth, Spike unfolded his lean frame from the Swordfish's cockpit. Tossing the key to the valet, he glared at everyone he passed, which included his partners. Faye was the prostitute, Jet the pimp, and he… well, Mr. Spike Spiegel was the diversion. Black boots, pleather pants that were almost as tight as Faye's dress, and, the crowning glory, the item that Spike hated most of all in his wardrobe, a tight black, sleeveless, mesh shirt. He was even forced to brush and slick his hair back, and wear a black bandanna. Actually, it was the front to a t-shirt. A normal bandanna wasn't big enough to contain his mallard-green hair when it wanted to do its own thing. It was his job to get into the club, and lay low. Jet and Faye would get chummy with the bounty, a Mr. Jesus Silver, in their own ways, until the given signal. Then Spike would start his diversionary tactics. A drunken, lecherous, violent young customer would make several passes at Faye, trying to secure her for his own ways and means. Of course, by then Jesus would have put up for advance payment for Faye. If things went well, not only would they have a few extra Woolongs, but also the fight Spike would start would create enough mayhem for Jet and Faye to grab Jesus and run.  
  
"This isn't worth it…" He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling more than exposed. He scowled at the heavy gothic-styled rings that were on almost all of his fingers. He did some more scowling, over the rims of his black wire-frame glasses, complete with blue lenses. Even if he didn't want to be, Spike was playing his character perfectly well. "Not even for the 60,000." Taking his place at the back of the line, he waited with the other eager patrons for Lyon's Den to open.  
  
Faye's irritated, yet doll-baby-innocent look matched the thoughts in her head. The people here were disgusting. All young adults, drooling like eager dogs, to get into the club. There were others like 'her' in line, pretty young things on the arms of older men, who had no interest in the ravers and clubbers around them. All they wanted to do was make sure their dates left happy and drunk. Or even better, that they left with a high-paying customer. She wanted nothing more than to get this over with. Sure, using her woman's charms to rein in a bounty was nothing new to her, but this was an all-time low. At least she didn't look as cheap as the other women. They all wore miniskirts of vinyl or pants that look like they'd been painted on. Of course, a certain pair of yellow hot pants didn't come to mind… *Well, at least I look classy…* After their slimy kingpin was sitting safely in prison, and the 60 thousand was in the bank account, would Faye be able to relax. She could already hear the click of 500-dollar chips and the crisp sound of shuffled, dealt cards. That Championship would easy money. After all, she was 'Poker Alice', wasn't she? Okay, so maybe the real Poker Alice never cheated, but then again, times had changed, and these times were trying on a girl.   
  
The line was slowly creeping forward, as the place finally opened its doors. Jet and Faye were somewhere to the left of the middle, and Spike was surely way in the back. She sighed. It'd take another two or three hours just to get the trap set up.  
  
An unseen dip in the pavement didn't mix well with her stilettos, and Faye stumbled, nearly going face-first into the pavement. That is, if it weren't for Jet. He caught her before she made a total ass of herself, setting her back on her feet, his hands firmly gripping her shoulders. She hoped she didn't look as disheveled as she felt. Tossing her head lightly, to fix her hair, Faye straightened her dress, avoiding eye contact with the people ahead of her. They'd turned around to eye the woman who almost toppled to the ground. Jet covered.  
  
"Take it easy, sweetheart. I know you're anxious, but damn…" He 'dusted' off her shoulders, stepping back to admire her over his glasses. Making sure that the crowd caught the look, and the way his eyebrows vanished under his hat in a suggestive bob, Jet pulled a cigar from his breast pocket with his left hand.   
  
If she were a cat, she would have been bristling. First she trips, and now he was making pseudo-passes at her? Even if this was just pretend, the notion of it was uncomfortably infuriating. Faye forced a sweet smile, and withdrew a shiny silver lighter from her purse. Jet lit his cigar with the flame it produced, winking. This elicited another hushed chuckle and ripple of whispers from those closest to him. She wanted to scream, but for the sake of the job, instead took Jet's arm, digging her fingernails sharply into the sleeve of his left bicep, hoping to get at some of the skin under the clothing.   
  
When and if he felt the bite of Faye's nails in his arm, Jet didn't react. He instead stared straight ahead, watching everything and nothing at the same time, as fragrant smoke from the cigar in his teeth wreathed his head. *I have a feeling I'm going to live to regret this…*  
Further back in line, Spike was enjoying his task about as much as Faye was. He blended in well with the men, save for the ready posture that Jeet Kune Do training had given him. He slumped against the wall, smoking yet another cigarette, casting a glare at anyone who dared look at him twice. Even trying to look casual, Spike had a permanent air of being always at the ready. Ready to kick ass, ready to take names, and ready to give this whole ordeal up and find some decent clothes… He rubbed his forehead frantically, his face screwed up. This bandanna was getting ridiculously itchy, the skin of his legs would peel off when he finally extricated himself from these pants, and this shirt… oh Jesus did this shirt have to go… Spike rolled his eyes, getting an unfortunate eyeful of bright blue neon from the sign overhead. Ignoring the spots that now swam in his vision, Spike dropped the cigarette, shuffling forward with the rest of the sheep. *I don't know who I'm going to kill first. Faye, for talking Jet into this, or Jet, for talking ME into this…* He growled, and scratched furiously at the itch that ran the length of his hairline, the whole bandanna shifting up and down as he tried to get rid of the annoyance. Finally, he just pulled the whole thing off, and tossed it into the street with one hand, fluffing up his hair with the other. "Good riddance to bad rubbish. Blech." Now that he was on a roll, headed for the sweet land of comfort, Spike wasn't about to stop.   
  
Poke poke. "Pardon."   
  
"Hm?"  
  
WHAM!   
  
The young man whose shirt Spike had been admiring went down without complaint, and Spike helped himself to the spoils. It was silk, now there was a perk, a pattern of stylized flames across the bottom hem. Still, overtly tacky for our conservative Mr. Spiegel, but it was better than this women's hosiery gone horribly wrong he'd been forced to wear. Exchanging one for the other, buttoning the short-sleeved dress shirt hastily, Spike ignored the unconscious, half-dressed man, as the rest of the people made a wide detour around him. When questioning looks were cast in his direction, Spike merely shrugged, as if it were no big deal. He lit a cigarette, as the line moved forward enough so that the crowd swallowed up the man whose shirt he'd just swiped.   
  
His cigarette waggled as he talked. "Now for some pants…"  
  
The stranger two people ahead of him, in comfortable-looking jeans, fainted dead away. 


	3. 3

"Jet... there he is..." Faye whispered softly, tugging on her partner's arm. If she had thought that waiting outside the club was infuriating, it was perfectly exasperating inside it. It was a sea of bodies, packed tightly together, gyrating wildly on the dance floor, or standing idle off it. People were stacked at the bar 4 and 5 thick, three bartenders scrambling to make drinks and not crash into one another. A slender young man pushed free of that crowd, heading into another. ...there was something oddly familiar about that fuzz of green... Spike! Faye tried to follow his head, as he wound through the people like a snake. His chin was lifted, to facilitate the way his lips were thrust up and out, his cigarette nearly brushing his nose as he held it out of the way between them. Rolling her eyes, Faye ignored him, and searched out Silver again. Ridiculously tanned, in a bright white impeccable suit, with several pounds of elaborate jewelry around his neck and on his wrists and fingers, Jesus sat in a semi-dark corner, with several girls around him, who all laughed and touched his shoulders coyly. At the table, four other men were sitting hunched, looking at something on the table.  
  
Jet furrowed his brows. "Bodyguards?" Snubbing out his cigar in the ashtray, he somehow managed to scoot his chair out enough to stand, without knocking over the people that were clustered around the tables. Damn these places, packed in enough to be a fire hazard 12 times over. "I heard he never went out with any thugs - he said they cramped his style." That's when he realized he was talking to himself. He caught a glimmer of her dress as Faye worked her way towards Silver's table. Jet couldn't help but growl. "Dammit, woman!" Plucking his hat and his drink off the table, he followed. His size was more than enough leverage, along with the irate glare on his face. He supposed the scar and metal plate on his right eye also helped. A bit of a memory floated to the surface. Quitting the ISSP after loosing his arm, Jet had settled on the life of a bounty hunter. The Bebop had just come into his possession, a broken down thing, before he had repaired it enough to make it the junk-heap Tin Goddess it was now. He hadn't seen the section of thick metal piping before it was too late. Part of the ventilation system, the rivets that had fastened the seams had been long gone. All it took was the final crack in the support braces, and the thing had swung down like a giant hammer, nailing him right in the face. It could have very well crushed his head in, but it settled on turning the bones of his cheek into powder. The scar and stabilizer plate were remainders of the surgery, and the fact that he still managed to keep his sight in that eye was a reminder that sometimes the Black Dog had the Devil's Own Luck. "I could use some of that infernal luck right now... if that woman does something...something RASH, I'll...I'll...!" Unable to find a suitable punishment he could make last more than a few days, Jet closed his mouth. Although, the satisfying image of Faye being forced to stay in the Red Tail while the Bebop towed it along brought a small grin to his lips.  
  
A cheer erupted from Silver's table, the audience that had gathered around it chanting 'Hey-zoos! Hey-soos!" Shouldering his way between two younger men, Jet's eyes widened at the sight before him. A chubby little man was getting up from the table, wiping the sweat from his brows, as someone else raked in a pile of plastic chips. Jesus stacked up his winnings nicely, leaning back in his chair, as another man shuffled the cards.   
  
"Anyone care to join in?" He said, his voice heavy with a Latino accent. "Anyone feel like loosing their money to myself or," Silver gestured with a be ringed hand to his left, "This gorgeous chica? Surely loosing to her will make it worth it."   
  
Faye lifted her head enough to display the innocent yet beguiling smile she wore, as she brushed away a strand of hair. "You flatter me, Mr. Silver."  
  
He flashed a game-show-host worthy smile, as he looked at the people around him. So far, no one had volunteered. "No takers? Everyone here is a chicken?" He shrugged. "Alright, man. Deal the next hand."  
  
"...Hold on. I'll join."   
  
The color drained from both Faye and Jet's faces, as Spike sat in the empty seat, straddling the chair. Smiling his slow, laid-back smile at Faye, Spike held out a 10,000 Woolong bill with two fingers. The dealer immediately gave him a tray of chips in the same amount. Lifting a red chip from his starting money, he rolled it over his knuckles as the cards were dealt. Though the smile said careless, Faye saw the twinkle in his red-brown eyes. Spiegel wasn't playing around, he was out to win. It nearly made her scream. The sound of cards and clinking chips had been a sort of Pied Piper's tune, luring her to the table. She would be the one to win, dammit, not that reckless cowboy!  
  
From his position across from Silver, Jet could see Faye's smile tighten. In counterpart, Spike relaxed more, leaning back in his chair, one leg under the table, the other hooked on the rungs under his seat. In his mind, Jet Black heard the swan song of what had been a flawless plan, as it fell to pieces before his very eyes. He grimaced into his drink, the last burning swallow of whisky not sitting well on what was becoming a sour stomach. '...For some reason, I see this ending badly. And once again, it will be me who has to clean up the mess...'  
  
Tossing his 100-Woolong ante into the pile, Spike picked up his cards in a neat little stack. Common thievery was below him, of course, but these people were just itching to be pick pocketed, just like that drunken moron he'd lifted a nice sum of Woolongs from, along with the three other people whose money was now tucked away in a fat little roll in the waistband of his pants. The top card was the 3 of Clubs, followed by the 5, and the 4. The next was the Jack of Diamonds. Emotionlessly, he revealed his last card, not blinking an eyelash as the 7 of Clubs stared back at him. Raising his eyes to look at the other players, he saw that Jesus' upper lip bulged, as his tongue wormed in the space between his lip and his teeth. Faye was perched elegantly on her chair, perfectly poker-faced, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. The other player's nostrils were flaring beneath his lumpy nose.  
  
Faye had something good. That sign he knew well. Were tongue wiggling and nostril-flaring give aways? Only one way to find out. It was sad that he would fold a possible small straight, but sacrifices were always a necessary evil.  
  
"How many cards, Mister...?" The dealer hesitated.  
  
"Lee. And give me one." Exchanging the Jack of Diamonds for another card, he was somewhat relieved to see the 2 of Hearts. Arranging his cards, he watched the rest of the table. Jesus took two, Faye one, and the other man stood pat. Nostril-flaring = GOOD hand.  
  
The dealer looked at him expectantly. Spike shrugged. "Fold." He laid his cards down, ignoring Jesus' smirk.   
  
"I'll open with a thousand." Two red 500-Woolong chips flew into the pile. "Too rich for your tastes, querida?" He was laying the charm on thick, considering that he was a small millionaire, even if he earned his wealth by dealing in questionable goods. A thousand Woolongs was peanuts to him.  
  
"Not at all, Mr. Silver." A strand of hair was wound tightly around her index finger, and she tugged it loose. "I'll call, and raise another thousand." Spike's left eyebrow shot up.  
  
Nostrils vibrating at a mile-a-minute, he grinned, his voice far too high-pitched and nasal for coming out of his monstrous body. "I believe this takes care of you, little lady..." He tossed another 2 chips down. "And I'll raise another thousand." He moved, a subtle flick of his eyes to the cards bent nearly in a circle by one of his massive mitts.   
  
Spike wanted to hit himself on the head. 'He's bluffing! He hasn't got shit to play with. ...sneaky little cretin, isn't he?" Removing the shrewd smile from his lips by lighting a cigarette, he puffed idly while Jesus called.   
  
"You're new face in this club, Lee." Said Nostril-boy. "What's your story?"  
  
"Me?" Spike shrugged. "I'm Martian-born, Martian-bred. Just an old-fashioned cowboy." The man gave him a strange look, which Spike didn't bother questioning. "What about you?"  
  
Leaving the 'cowboy' comment alone, he replied with a shrug of his own. "From Europa. Name's Cyprus." His smile was bold, mocking. "Just a lowly gunslinger."  
  
"...A polite way to say you're a hired gun, eh Cyprus?" Faye had called, and Spike was fortunate that it was now Cyprus' turn to cash in or fold, or the hitman may have done something rash. As he threw in his bid, Cyprus scowled at Spike over his cards.  
  
Jesus laid down two pair, Jacks of Hearts and Clubs, and the 2 of Hearts and Diamonds. The crowd cheered, but was immediately silenced when Faye laid down four Queens, smiling mysteriously like one of the paintings on the front of the cards.   
  
"Four of a kind beats two pair. Cyprus?" The dealer was very blasé about the whole ordeal. Cyprus growled, and slapped down a pair of fives. "The lady wins."   
  
Not-so elegant as she leaned forward to rake in her winnings, and showing a great deal of bosom as she did so, Faye gave a gentle shrug. "Sorry boys." Mostly directed at Silver, Faye laughed demurely, stacking her chips.  
  
"It's no problem at all, bonita mujer." Silver smiled one of his smiles that showed too many teeth. "Luck is a lady tonight."  
  
Jet's heart was thumping in his chest. 'Gods, Faye... don't cheat too much. At this rate, the original plan could be salvaged..." He was now standing behind her, and somehow missed how she went from a Queen and low cards, to all four Queens. There was no way in HELL she could have cards hidden in that dress, unless of course she was packing a rigged deck in a leg garter somewhere. He was sure that he'd need another few drinks sooner or later, or else suffer a major heart attack. Spike was planning something, too, what with the way he was casually irking the living daylights out of the other man. This might not turn out so bad, after all.  
  
The next three hands saw both Spike and Faye winning a nice bit of money. The losses rolled off Silver like water off a duck's back, but Cyprus was slowly getting enraged. He was almost bending his cards in half, slamming chips on the table, and swearing loudly when Faye topped him with a pair of fours, or Spike blew him out of the water with a full house.  
  
"You sure you're just a cowboy, Lee?" He growled when Spike beat him again with four Aces. "You look more like a cheater to me." Another glass of bourbon was swallowed back, and he pounded that down on the table, eying him menacingly.  
  
"Just a cowboy." It was in a casual shrug that Spike revealed the gun holstered at his hip. "Care to make something of it?" Jet nearly stroked out.   
  
'Spike! You IDIOT!'  
  
"You wouldn't dare." he hissed. "You're a cheater, and a coward." The crowd and other two players focused on them. Jesus was bored. Faye was poorly concealing shock.  
  
"I wouldn't really call it being a coward. I just know when to run, that's all. My pappy used to say 'He who fights and runs away, ...lives to run another day.'." Okay, so his father really hadn't said that lame-ass anecdote, but it was worth the startled look on everyone's face. "Right, Mr. Silver? You know all about hiding, don't you?" Silver's eyes nearly popped out of his head.  
  
"I think that this spineless cheater needs to be taught a lesson." Cyprus went for his gun. His hand wasn't even at his back, when Spike's gun shot from its holster, Spike calmly smiling as the Jericho was pointing at Cyprus, who went bone-white.   
  
"Care to use mine?" Cyprus stammered. Blood vessels bulged in Jesus' forehead. Imitating a perfect cowboy, Spike spun the gun elaborately, holstering it. But it flew right back out again the moment it was completely concealed. "Aahh.. damn." He tried it again, this time with more flair, but he withdrew it in another split second. "This thing just doesn't know when to quit." Feigning a joking exasperance, he put it away again. Once more, the Jericho spun out, leveled on Cyprus. "There must be a spring in there or something." Cyprus was sweating, Spike was smiling, his eyes glittering.  
  
Faye wasn't really shocked by Spike's little show. She leaned in close to Silver. "Was that fast? I think that was fast."  
  
Jesus' genial mood had melted away. "That was fast." He growled. "But the cowpoke needs to learn when to quit while he's ahead!" A Colt shot from his sleeve, nestled in his palm. "Enough of your fancy tricks!" A string of Spanish flew from his mouth, Spike not hearing most of it. What he heard, he didn't understand, but it was enough to go on. He jumped to his feet, glaring at Silver.  
  
"What did you call me?!"  
  
"I called you a honorless bastard cheater!" He spat, his teeth bared. Faye's hand flew to her mouth, mimicking horror.  
  
Leaning in close, Spike put his nose almost in Jesus' face. "Care to take this outside?"  
  
"...you that willing to get your ass beat, eh cowboy?" The crowd parted as the two men stormed through the club. Spike was the first one outside. Jesus laughed. "Bad idea." Snapping his fingers, he watched from the door, as 4 men emerged from the shadows. "Let's see if you're worth my time, little boy."  
  
Spike tried to look alarmed, as the four surrounded him, each of them built like a tank, one wielding a knife. 'Oh please... My dead grandmother looks more threatening...' Obviously they weren't going to play fair, as one went in from behind, trying to get Spike in a chokehold that would leave him at the mercy of the other 3. "Whoops!" Pivoting on his heel, Spike's arm shot out, tensing at the last moment, which sent a lighting-quick, crushing blow to his opponent's face, the heel of his palm snapping the bridge of the man's nose like it was a twig. Reeling back with blood streaming down his face, the man went to his knees, howling. Another unarmed man took his place, but went down as Spike met him with a knee to his gut and an elbow to his back in the same movement. Arms and legs a blur, his Jeet Kune Do more than a match for these brawny fools, Spike grinned as his next victim went down with a heavy thud, his legs swept out from under him. Now it was just he and Mr. Knife. Of course, he lunged, knife outstretched. Spike rolled his eyes. "What I wouldn't give to fight a person with a little experience." Sidestepping easily, his hand clamping down on the knife-wrist, it was a simple process to get the man in a chokehold, his knife arm bent up behind his back so far that the knife was visible above his other shoulder.  
  
Silver shrank back from the door, as Spike stood boldly, the man in his grip writhing in pain. As if he'd forgotten him, Spike looked startled. "Oh. Excuse me, friend." Breaking the other man's arm, Spike stepped over the shrieking form on the ground, and headed back into the club. Silver was making a bee line for his table, but Spike intercepted him.  
  
Finding himself against a wall, a gun pressed into his forehead, Silver panicked as he faced the eyes behind the gun. Raising his hands in defense, he stammered incoherently.  
  
"I don't like being called names. Nor do I like having tricks played on me. We clear on that?"  
  
"S-Sí, Señor." The moment Spike released him, Silver fled like he had the devil himself on his tail, a chorus of slamming doors following as he left through the back, for the car that was waiting for him. Once inside the safety of the plush maroon Cadillac, Silver smoothed his clothes, wiping the sweat from his brow. "We'll meet again, Señor Cowboy. I swear on my madre's grave. We'll meet again."  
  
Putting away his gun, Spike lit a cigarette. The place had cleared out the moment they'd taken their fight outside. Jet came up behind him, along with Faye.  
  
"I suppose this is where I ream you a new one for being a reckless lunkhead." Jet sighed, but instead held up a wad of cash. "But this covers your damage. I took the liberty of cashing in your chips. Fourteen-thousand Woolongs." He shoved it at Spike, who smirked. His entrance fee was more than covered, now.  
  
"And what about you?"  
  
"I would have had more," Faye sniffed haughtily, looking insulted. "But if you hadn't gone and..."  
  
"How much did you get, Faye?" Spike's eyes bored into her.  
  
"Twelve thou." She stroked her clutch purse like it was a priceless artifact. It bulged with a ridiculous amount of money. Breaking her idolatry, she looked over her shoulder, to where Silver had run off. "What about the scumbag?"  
  
"We'll see him again, I'm sure." Jet chuckled, putting his hat on. "As for the three of us, I suggest we make our exit. I don't think the MPD is going to let this slip."  
  
"That's more than fine with me. I feel filthy, just standing here." Faye shuddered delicately. "I need to take a bath. I call first dibs. You two will use all the hot water."  
  
Jet held open the door for her. "To use all the hot water, you have to HAVE it first." Spike and Jet both grinned at each other, following Faye's loud whining into the Martian night. 


End file.
